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All Rise...

Judge Daryl Loomis always watches out for the cross swallow.

The Charge

Three stories. Three generations. One bizarre and shocking universe.

Opening Statement

Director Györgi Pálfi (Hukkle) explores the last 60 years of
Hungarian history, using a gallery of the grotesque in Taxidermia, a
celebration of the body and all its excesses.

Facts of the Case

As an orderly in the Soviet army, Vendel (Csaba Czene) gets kicked around
plenty by his superior officer. He gets his revenge by impregnating the
officer's wife, but gets shot in the head for his trouble. The officer raises
Kálmán (Gergely Trócsányi) as his own, and develops the boy
into a champion competitive eater. Kálmán marries the female champion
and, together, they make their own baby boy. Kálmán expects Lajoska
(Marc Bischoff) to follow in his footsteps, but instead the boy grows up a
sallow, strange taxidermist. As Kálmán's disappointment grows, so does
his belly, while Lajos suffers his abuse and prepares for the ultimate
stuffing.

The Evidence

It would seem as though Taxidermia would be shocking, but it never
really tries to be. Instead Pálfi uses strange and sometimes disturbing
imagery to create a fantastical modern history of Hungary; spinning a triptych
of stories connected by blood that focus on the body in three very different
ways.

The first section is likely to shock the most, both because we can't
anticipate what's to come and it looks at the sexual side of the human form. We
meet WWII soldier and peon Vendel on "Bathing Day," upon which he has
to monitor the bath water during the one day the men and women of the camp get
to clean up. Vendel likes to watch, but it gets him in a lot of trouble. After
suffering abuse all day long, he finds relief in the onanistic pleasures of the
flesh. The trouble is that every time he does, flames shoot from his penis. Why?
I don't know. It's the sort of outrageous imagery that populates the film, in an
almost giddy way. At every plot turn, there's some new grotesquery waiting for
us, though Pÿlfi isn't just here to gross us out. Taxidermia is,
through and through, a beautifully made film. The sharp, colorful cinematography
by Gergely Pohárnok is fluid, changing from section to section, but always
steady enough for us to appreciate the imagery. In this first section, he gives
us bright white backgrounds behind a drab army landscape, while punctuating
these cold, sad images with quick-edited, hot close-ups of faceless and sexless
body parts in the bathtub.

In the middle section, we move into a Krushchev-era Soviet Union to find
Vendel's son fully grown—though massively overgrown may be the better way
to put it. In Pálfi's alternate universe, competitive eating is a real
spectator sport (not the marginal hotdog eating marathons we see in reality) and
Kálmán is one of the best in Hungary. His gorging techniques are the
stuff of legend; he's even had a vomiting technique named after him. If that
sounds gross, wait until you see it. This part focuses on the body as a
consumptive and political machine, with glory and destruction weighing heavily
on both sides. Just like real Soviet athletes, these eaters are instruments of
the state; heroes who stuff their gobs with 45 kilos of caviar. Coached by a
process of binging and purging, this section is heavy on the fluids. Eating,
vomiting, and eating some more doesn't sound like an appetizing watch, but
Pálfi constructs these scenes with a surprising beauty. Pohámok's
sweeping camerawork is most vibrant in this section, a pastel romance of food
and Soviet politics.

Though the three sections could easily stand alone as separate short
films,

In the final section, as we move into modern times, Taxidermia comes
together as a beautiful, cohesive whole. After sex and food, we now have the
body as a work of art. It's the strange final days of taxidermist Lajoska
Balatony, whose father Kálmán is still alive, but in a state something
taken directly from Monty Python's The
Meaning of Life. Lajoska wears a ghostly pallor because he has only ever
done three things in his life: take care of his immobile father, raise his
vastly oversized cats for their own kind of eating competition, and practice his
taxidermy, a skill at which he has clearly grown adept. His work is stunning,
alive in a way that neither he nor anybody around him can be. His father, the
athlete, is angry with his son's artistic tendencies. Lajoska is tiny and weak,
more like his grandfather than his father, who never knew Vendel. This story is
framed by the narration of a doctor who comes in with a human fetus he wishes
stuffed and encased in a glass bulb. The resulting Christmas ornament is a
bizarre image; one of many one I won't soon forget. Pohárnok shoots this
section more closely to the first than the second, but with a stronger sense of
the macabre. The opulent rich, decked out in their shining white fabrics,
fascinated with an exhibit of Lajoska's work, contrasts sharply with the inky
shadows of his studio. These images carry the most formal beauty of the film
and, as we descend upon visuals that recall Michelangelo's David,
Pálfi's vision of the body as both perfection and grotesque becomes
clear.

Taxidermia would be a shocking array of disgusting images, if the
whole film wasn't so funny. All of the performances are fantastic; not
believable, but filled with scene-chewing glee. The copious special effects only
add to the strangeness, and the near seamless combination of practical and CGI
is a joy to watch. Pálfi's film is a joyous look at the body, both in form
and function, one I will likely watch over and over again.

E1's DVD for Taxidermia is a good release. The image transfer
displays Gergely Pohárnok's gorgeous cinematography very nicely. The white
levels are clear and stark, while the blacks are deep and solid. The detail is
strong and I found no noticeable errors. The sound may be merely a 2.0 stereo
mix, but the dialogue, music, and often-disgusting ambient effects come through
loud and clear. The only bonus feature is a strong 45-minute making-of
featurette that details nearly every aspect of the production. From the concept
and development, to the performances and effects, there is a great amount of
information packed into a manageable length.

Closing Statement

Parts of Taxidermia may not be for the faint-of-heart, but those who
can stomach a whole lot of flesh and fluid will find much to enjoy. Beautifully
filmed and excellently performed, it's 90 minutes of grotesque fun that will
leave you with a feeling you might not be able shake for a while.